Page 47 of Strange Familiar

“Órlaith means to poison me, does she?” Piers barked out a laugh and held up the bottle. “It won’t work. I can detect poison.”

“Of course, Lord Elal,” Cillian replied smoothly, “so you’ll have reassured yourself that there’s no poison here. My grandmother sent this with her apologies for her inhospitality to Wizard Alise. She mentioned that you’d been fond of her ERS oil back at Convocation Academy, and had particularly enjoyed it to spice up your eggs at breakfast.”

Lord Elal considered Cillian and the flask. “That was a long time ago. I’m surprised Órlaith remembers that.”

“She said you would.” Which was absolutely true. Cillian skipped pointing out that his grandmother, as a librarian wizard powerful enough to head her house possessed a meticulously trained and magically fueled memory. Careless of Elal to ignore that. “She also mentioned that you were one of the few she’d ever known who could withstand the heat level.”

“True, true.” Piers Elal considered the sauce, the spirits trapped in the metal-bound globe of the mechanical eye whirling idly. He dabbed a bit on his finger and tasted it, then blew out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Ah, that’s the stuff. Volcanic. Would you like some?” He extended the vial toward Cillian’s plate.

Cillian made a pained face and pressed a hand to his stomach. “It’s far too spicy for me. I’m afraid I have a rather, ah, delicate constitution.”

As he’d calculated, Lord Elal sneered at that, casting a speaking look at Alise, who’d been watching the exchange in silence, quietly eating the pastry Wim had plated for her. “This fragile pretty boy is who you picked?” he asked, disgusted, pouring a great deal of the ERS oil over his eggs, making a show of it. “I don’t understand your taste, Daughter.”

Alise gazed over at him, black eyes wide and thoughtful. “I like pretty boys.” The other five, admittedly very pretty young men around the table all looked at Cillian, too.

Cillian simply watched Lord Elal as he shoveled the spicy eggs into his mouth, pretending to be admiring. “I’ve never seen anyone capable of eating so much of my grandmother’s oil before.”

Lord Elal waved that off, though his face had gone bright red, beads of sweat forming on his temples and forehead. “The burn is the best part,” he declared, then thumped his chest with the meat of his fist, punching out a juicy belch that had one of the familiars flinching in disgust and Alise rolling her eyes.

“Excellent,” Piers proclaimed, then pointed his fork at Cillian. A smear of red oil stained his beard. “You tell Órlaith she hasn’t lost her touch. Exquisitely brewed, as always. Perhaps even hotter now.”

“She’s been tweaking the recipe over the years,” Cillian replied.

“Eh, well, good that she has something to do with her time. Never did understand the charm of living out at House Harahel in the back of beyond. ‘What do you do all day?’ I asked her once and she said ‘read.’ Ha!” He bellowed a laugh that smelled unpleasantly of ERS oil combined with digestive fluids.

Alise caught Cillian’s eye and raised her brows slightly. He gave a reassuring smile. Any moment now. “Speaking of House Harahel,” he said, “I should be heading home soon. If I could trouble you, Lord Elal, to ask that my carriage be readied?”

“Already is.” Piers shifted in his chair, gaze turned inward, an odd expression on his face. Then he pinned Cillian with a glare with his one remaining black eye. “I didn’t want any delay in seeing the back of you.”

“A perfectly understandable sentiment,” Cillian noted mildly, rewarded by Lord Elal’s frown as he sorted through the remark for insult.

“Once you—” Lord Elal broke off, a loud gurgle coming from his gut. “Something seems to not be sitting well with me.”

“It has been a long time since you had my grandmother’s ERS oil,” Cillian replied with sympathy, “and you mentioned she’s brewed it hotter than it used to be. Perhaps you’ve lost your tolerance?”

“I’ve only grown stronger over the years,” Elal insisted. He got a very odd look on his face, then actually squirmed in his chair. “You’ll have to excuse me, young Harahel,” he said, stating it like an order. “I must, ah, take care of something, so I won’t be able to see you off personally. But don’t get ideas, you—” He paled and stood abruptly. “I want you gone. No lingering.”

“Oh, believe me, Lord Elal, I intend to go immediately,” Cillian promised with absolute sincerity.

The wizard practically fled the room and Cillian found himself hard-pressed not to show his amusement and satisfaction. That had worked even better and faster than his grandmother had promised, no doubt due to the excessive amount of ERS oil Elal had slathered on his meal.

“What happened to Lord Elal?” Zim wondered. Gim and Tim snickered.

Cillian turned to Alise. “Would you see me out Wizard Elal, in lieu of your father?”

“I’d be delighted Wizard Harahel,” she replied demurely.

The five familiars watched Cillian escort her out of the room, looking rather forlorn. He felt sorry for them, but not so much that he didn’t indulge himself by setting a hand on the small of Alise’s back as they passed through the doorway. Mine.

She slid him the side-eye. “Did you just pull a possessive move?”

“I’m a librarian and an intellectual,” he answered in a lofty tone, “which does not make me a more evolved human being. Fuck those guys.”

A sound suspiciously like a giggle suppressed into a snort came out of her. “We should hurry.”

“Yes, but not so fast as to look suspicious. He’ll be out of commission for a while.”

“What did you do to my father, anyway?”

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